The Class A Team
by kiiarra3
Summary: Harry is a Cocaine addict and Louis blames himself for not seeing the signs. The other boys try to help, but they have their doubts. Established Louis/Harry and Liam/Niall somewhere along the way. based on the song The A Team by Ed Sheeran, somewhat
1. Excerpt

Thinking back, images flash across his mind as though on a worn projector, some scenes black with gaps, holes of his memories that no matter how hard he tries, they won't come back. Sometimes he blames it on the drugs, but when he's alone at night, when it really counts, he has nothing else to blame but himself and he knows it. He knows it's all his fault, somewhere in his mucked and mangled mind, yet, it's so much easier for him to push his faulty missjudges and guilty choices onto other people. It works for a short time, but as always, it comes back with a vengence, just as he knew it would.


	2. The worst things in life come free to us

"C'mon Harry, there's nothing wrong with it! Stop being a twat," Dan, Harry vaguely remembers his name, actually, but he remembers his words as though they've been etched deep into his brain with an everlasting ink. "No, mate, I don't do that shit- I've already told you!" And with those words, Harry's blood begins to curdle with anger mixed within the alcohol he's consumed, so he pushes off the man before his fists might decide to wind up cracking against his nose and eye.

"One hit won't kill you! Plus, it'll make it even better when I'm fucking you." Dan stumbles with his words, eyes glossy with the shots he's took and Harry's stomach lurches at the thought. "I don't fuck druggies." His voice rises, and he attempts to give the man a shove but he finds him crawling up the length of his arm until he's at the younger boy's ear, whispering. "I'm pretty sure you won't be fucking _him_ tonight either, Harry." Dan purrs, and Harry can pick apart the pettied whine, but his words throttle him deeper. "What do you mean?" Harry stutters over his words with an alcoholic breath, and he feels the man's grin etch into his stubbled jaw against his ear.

"C'mon, one hit, Harry. It'll make you feel better," His words are barely a hiss, the hot of his breath tickling the younger boy's inner ear and he grips his knuckles tighter. "I said no. Fuck off," His words are becoming less persuasive, softer and as if he doesn't mean them. He's giving in, and the other man senses it with a darkened grin and flashing teeth. "Aw, you don't mean that, do you?" His tongue brushes against Harry's earlobe and a shutter wavers throughout his spine, involuntary. He inwardly curses his manhood, testosterone and all the alcohol in this damned club. "No."

"I knew you didn't." Harry can feel the intentions behind his words, yet, for some ungodly reason that he's blamed on the alcohol, he ignores them. "Now come on and take a hit with me." His demands, under any normal circumstance, would have angered the boy off to no end. But now, under the glare of the multi-colored lights and the heat of the intertangled bodies on the floor, the table surrounded by ill junkies looks more inviting than he had ever considered.

It feels as though his actions are all involuntary at this point, his brain fighting his body as his feet planting firmly after another to the table. He feels his pulse quicken, and his hands grow clammy. There's a nasty, unsettling feeling in his gut and he knows he should listen, yet, he doesn't listen to it. The man keeps ushering him forward with hands all over him- ghosting over the nape of his neck, the small of his back and with his mouth in his ear and over his neck. The touch he gives comes with some sort of a malistic, dark-intentioned invitation of lust, and his body keens for more even though his mind and gut are repulsed. Mind over matter? No.

He approaches the table, and he senses the hair curl upwards from the nape of his neck and his breathing heavies. He shouldn't be doing this. He should be home, with Lou, trying to talk over their most recent fight. But no. Instead, he has some whacked out blonde druggie attached to his back with his cock grinding into his bum as he moves faster and faster to the table. He gives a shake of his curly locks as second thoughts fill his mind, but Dan is urging him on further. "It'll take you there." His breath his hot against his ear, and for the faintest moment Harry is reminded of how Lou does that, but the memory is short lived. "Where?" His voice is pathetic, small and weak because he's defeated and his defiance is broken. "Anywhere and everywhere, really." As soon as his words are into his ear, Harry hears a second voice, gravely and smoke lidden with a few hints of rotting and missing teeth. "It takes you there," A druggie, dialated dead eyes, sunken cheeks and protruding collar bones with some dry straw for hair speaks up from one of the places at the table. Harry grimaces tauntly at the sight of power on her nose and he's reminded of that time Niall ate a powdered pastry and pretended the white on his nose was cocaine. How ironic.

"Dan! Who's the kid?" One of the junkies, dirty, rotting corpses, speaks up. "A shag for later, yeah? Thought I'd introduce him to the stuff first- wanna make his night wild." He feels a sweaty hand clasp around his waist and he bites back the nagging sting of tears in his glossy green eyes as some man, or atleast he thinks it is, slides a razor blade and two fresh lines of the white substance. He begins to protest, mouth off that no, he's not a fucking kid because he's at a fucking bar for Christs sake, but Dan is already snorting the substance and he can't help but lose the words and the train of thought along with them as he observes. "Your turn." The blonde murmurs and grips Harry's shoulder tightly to steady himself as he flashes a sickening, malistic sort of feral grin. There's an evil glint in those eyes, but the boy doesn't catch it as he bends down to ruin his life.


End file.
